The Men Who Built America
by bobness
Summary: Too often we look over the key figures in America's history. Too often they are shoved aside by time. However, back when America was young, these men were the best friends he had. And the weirdest. Historical fiction, rated M for language, possible violence, and sexual situations in one chapter. Possibility of multiple pairings.
1. Shakespeare's Chair

**New series. Because I start things without finishing other things. Go me.**

**Anyway, these are just random tidbits of Founding Father shenanigans, and they won't be in any particular order. Pairings might be possible later down the road (or, rather, I might _allude_ to a pairing, but you get my drift). Mostly FrUS, perhaps some USUK, maybe a bit of America x world. I'm making this up as I go along.  
**

**That being said, I hope everyone enjoys, and I hope you guys might even learn something new!**

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"So, what am I looking at?"

America stared down at the piece of wood that Adams was offering him, blinking in confusion. He didn't understand what was so great about wood. Out of everything Adams could have brought back with him from England, he chose a small chip of wood.

Adams frowned, which, ironically, didn't seem to be much different from how he normally looked. America would have teased him for it if he weren't so interested as to why the two politicians standing in front of him were so enthralled about wood, and even went so far as to gift their own country with wood.

When America said, "Bring me souvenirs!" he didn't mean _wood_.

"This is a chip-" John started, eyes widening as he spoke. America held back his laughter. Adams was always one for drama. The young nation supposed it was all those years of traveling about Europe. "-of Shakespeare's chair."

America felt his eye twitch, and he glanced up at Jefferson for confirmation.

The taller man nodded, and America gave a resigned sigh, shaking his head. "I'm just...lemme get this straight." He bit at his lip. "You guys went to England-" They nodded. "-to try and smooth things over with him-" They nodded. "-and brought me back something useless?"

Jefferson nodded.

Adams shook his head vehemently. "Useless?" he scoffed. "Hardly useless. America, this here has been touched by the great Shakespeare himself!" He thrust the wood into America's hands, looking quite frazzled. "Useless. Honestly, America, maybe it's time you start appreciating great works of literature."

"It's _British_," America announced, looking disgusted.

"And so were you once," Adams snapped. "And we don't sit around and hate you."

"Yeah, but I was British in the _past_." America sighed. "This is still British now."

Adams threw his hands up in the air, looking quite exasperated. "You're ridiculous, America! Tom and I brought you back a lovely souvenir. I could very well keep that for myself, you know. It's high-time you start appreciating the efforts that other people put in to please you."

America gaped at him. "It's _wood_!" he exclaimed. "Now, if you had brought me, like, some books of his or something, I'd understand, or maybe the chair itself, but this is wood."

Jefferson finally decided to add his input. "America, it isn't so much the content of the gift, but it's the-"

"Thought that counts," America finished in a mumble.

Looking pleased, Jefferson continued. "And, with such a saying in mind, we really did think about you as we carved out this chunk of wood. You're interested in other cultures, aren't you? Yes, and because of that, we figured we'd start off small, yet exciting. One of the most skilled writers of all time has touched this very same chunk of wood, and his legacy can live on if you so choose to keep it."

America glanced up at the man, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well," he said, enclosing it in his fists and drawing his hand back. "I suppose it would do me no harm to treasure this gift."

Adams straightened out his waistcoat, sending America a very strained look. "_Thank you _for taking it," he snapped. "I was about ready just to shove it down your throat and stop your constant complaining."

"For someone who appears to love his country so much, you really seem to dislike me."

"Not so much dislike," Adams said. "More of, well, to put it simply, I sometimes feel quite exhausted by you."

America stared at him for a few seconds before his face lit up in a mischievous grin. "You feel exhausted by everyone, Mr. Adams."

Jefferson smiled at this, but Adams just rolled his eyes. "I assure you, lad, I'm not exhausted by people." Before either America or Jefferson could say anything, Adams added, "I am infuriated by people."

America snorted in laughter, a hand flying up to his face to stop any more sounds from emerging. "Forgive me," he apologized, but neither man seemed upset from his outburst. If anything they were both rather amused. "Um, so how was the rest of the trip?" the young nation asked, clearing his throat and blushing.

"Expensive," Jefferson declared before Adams could get another word in. "Dreadfully so. The fees were rather ridiculous for such a simple visit."

Blinking, America looked lost. "Wait, the visit to Shakespeare's home, or just England in general?"

"Shakespeare's home," came the reply, and Jefferson sighed, pulling his hands behind his back. "As interesting as the home and tomb were to see, I'd much prefer it if my pockets were fuller than they are now."

Adams rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, Tom, you love to save your money." He shook his head at America, who still looked rather lost. "We had a grand time visiting the home, and I'm pretty sure Tom was about to kiss the ground in ecstasy."

Jefferson simply raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

America glanced back and forth at the two men. "Right," he drawled. "But, uh, I was mostly wondering about England."

"Oh, as gorgeous as always. I don't believe the courts are quite welcome to us, most obviously, but-"

"No, no, I meant, um _England_." America was looking rather distressed. "Th-The, uh, man. England. Right?"

"Oh." Adams nodded his head and looked over to Jefferson. "Well, he's, er, he's doing fine, I suppose."

"You suppose?"

Jefferson gave America's shoulder a comforting pat. "We were only able to see him once, lad, and he said nothing to us, nor to anyone else."

Adams cut in. "Yes, the king did say something to him once while we were there, but England barely even moved a muscle."

America's face fell and he pursed his lips in thought. "I guess he's still sore with me, isn't he?"

"Eh, only a little," Adams lied, but when America narrowed his eyes, the short man rolled his eyes. "Yes, okay, he's very angry. But, come along, America, you were quite aware that he_ would_ be angry. You just fought a war against him, after all. He isn't going to run at you with open arms."

"Yes, I know." Still, America couldn't help letting out a sigh. "Well, um, thanks for the gift, you two. It's pretty interesting to be holding something so old in my hands." He smiled fondly at the two men, and they returned the smile. "And thank you for remembering me on your trip. Now, I have some business to attend to, so if you wouldn't mind." He gave each of them a curt nod and turned on his heel, striding down the corridor and disappearing into one of the rooms, most likely to discuss matters with another politician.

Jefferson waited until he was out of sight for a minute or two before saying, "I'm sorry we had to give America your chunk of wood, John."

Adams shrugged. "It's what I get for forgetting about him."

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**A/N:  
**

**-_Shakespeare's chair_ was actually carved into by many visitors. Jefferson and Adams certainly weren't the first to do so. I'm not quite sure if this piece of wood has ever been recovered, and I don't think the chair is still around.**

**-_John Adams_ was a diplomat to England at this time, and Jefferson was one to France (sent there by the word of Adams after Martha Jefferson died and thus ended my OTP). However, he visited Adams up in England and they, you know, got some wood.**

**-_The fees_ of visiting were something Jefferson apparently despaired over.**

**-_Mrs. Adams_ alluded to the fact that Jefferson may or may not have kissed the ground of Shakespeare's home when they arrived. It's already proven that he was a Shakespeare fanboy, what with the way he went on and on about the man. ;)**

**Annnnd, I believe that's it! If you enjoyed, feel free to follow and/or review!**


	2. Needing a Father

**I was writing this for Washington's birthday. I was fashionably late. Derp.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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"Lafayette says he's coming back over in a few weeks," were the first words out of Washington's mouth when America sat down beside him.

The young country couldn't hide the slight frown that somehow made its way to his face, and he knew that his boss could tell. "Is he?" He tried keeping his voice neutral, tried acting like he could care less, but Washington was a smarter man than that. Surely he could hear the strain, surely he could see the set jaw. If he noticed, though, he chose to say nothing.

"Yes. He just wishes for a simple visit. I also think the trouble over in France isn't boding well with him." The man smiled softly. "I guess he needs to spend some time around someone who portrays true freedom and happiness."

Recognizing a compliment when it was given, America sat taller in his chair, unable to keep from looking so proud. "Yes, well." He cleared his throat, a pleased blush traveling up his face, and he fidgeted just slightly in his chair, wanting to whoop for joy. Of course, he was going to be on his best behavior for Washington, to prove that he was a mature nation. "Perhaps if he spends some time with us, he'll be able to take some ideas back to France with him." He nodded. "I know France is a fan of freedom, as well. I just think his people's wishes are conflicting with his own."

Washington shrugged his shoulders. "I doubt the people back in France will listen to what Lafayette says. France himself might, but a country cannot act without the consent of his people."

America winced. "Guess you're right," he muttered.

It seemed that the man wanted to push the dreary matters aside, for he sighed, shaking his head. "Whatever the case, I think a visit here will do Lafayette some good. The two of you get along well, don't you?"

Not about to admit that he was actually insanely jealous of the young, French soldier, America nodded, keeping up a smile for Washington. "Yes, we do. He's a very intelligent man. Strong and skilled, as well."

His fingers curled into his palm when he saw Washington give a pleased smile. "I'm very glad. I was afraid you wouldn't accept him. You seemed a little unsure when I told you who he was."

America didn't bring up the fact that he was unsure because Washington was doting so heavily on Lafayette, even going so far to say, "He's like a son to me," something that had haunted America through many nights.

How in the world was a French soldier like a son to an American general? America _himself_ was supposed to be the son, not some French guy!

He said none of that, though. Instead, he gave a strained grin. "Nerves, I assume."

Washington shrugged. "Whatever the case, I'm glad the two of you are now friends."

America made an affirmative noise in the back of his throat, and then the conversation died down. How was he supposed to answer _that_ one? He didn't exactly consider Lafayette to be his friend. A guest, sure. An honorable guest. If it weren't for the fact that Washington was so set on practically adopting the guy, America would gladly strike up a stronger bond. As it was, though, his jealousy was quickly dashing all hopes he had of ever viewing Lafayette as more than a simple companion.

Suddenly, he wanted to establish the fact that he was worth just as much as Lafayette was. He wanted to prove to himself that Washington loved _him_ like a son.

"Um, sir?" he asked, looking down at the ground.

"Yes?" Washington raised his eyebrows. "It's just me, Alfred, there's no need to be so formal."

Well, if he was supposed to be _in_formal, this might work better than he expected.

America nodded and continued. "Is, I mean, can I, um, call you something other than, you know, Sir or Washington or-"

"You may call me George, if you wish," Washington said, his eyes twinkling. "I don't mind."

America took a deep breath. "Dad."

It went silent then, and the young country quickly averted his eyes, a blush rising to his face as he gripping the plush armrests of the chair he was currently sitting in.

He knew he shouldn't have said anything. England had warned him, time and time again, about the dangers of getting too close to others, especially those who weren't nations. They would die, he had always said. They would die and then what would he be left with? Just an empty memory, one that would probably pass with the years.

Washington would die. America's breath caught in his throat with that knowledge. Washington would die and that would be it. The man America longed to view as his father wasn't going to be immortal with him.

"Is this because you need a father?" Washington asked, his voice quiet.

"Wha-What?"

Washington raised his eyebrows. "England acted as a father-figure to you. He was with you all the while as you grew into such a fine, young man. But he's gone now, and I imagine you're going to turn to a replacement, someone else who-"

"You're not a replacement!" America stood from his seat, blue eyes wide. "You're _not_! I do view you as a father, because-"

"Because you _need_ one."

America wasn't sure whether or not to deny Washington's accusations. He didn't know why he wanted Washington to be his father. He didn't feel as if he _needed_ one, but he did certainly want Washington to stay with him, to dote upon him, to call him a son.

He wished he was a human. He wished he really _was_ Washington's son.

"I-I," America began to stammer, taking deep breaths. "I don't know, sir. I just, I'm not sure, but I know I want you to be my father. Please, just...just _please_."

Washington sighed, standing from his seat as well. America thought he was going to be reprimanded, and he was prepping himself for Washington's harsh words, but the man gathered America into a hug. America froze, taken off guard.

"America," Washington whispered. "I love you."

America stayed still.

"But I can't believe you're asking such a thing."

And that's when America's heart started dropping. He lowered his head, swallowing back his disappointment. "I-I know, I do apologize, I wasn't-"

"I thought I already was your father."

The young nation drew back suddenly, staring at Washington with awe. He said nothing, though his mouth opened just slightly in amazement, and the man could only smile and nod.

America quickly barreled back in his arms, burying his face into Washington's coat. He still wasn't able to speak, but Washington seemed to understand. He always seemed to understand.

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**_Lafayette_ was a French aristocrat who was very sympathetic to the colonists' cause. He was also _very_ helpful to the Americans, and while the French liked him at first, he soon grew highly unpopular with the rise of Napoleon (French history, stahp being so confusing, just lemme watch Les Miserables in peace without worrying about what happened when). **

**This probably _takes place in 1784_. Not positive just yet.**

**HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY WASHINGTON! because yus dat's how i roll, vroom vroom.**

**Also, thank you all so much for the fantastic reviews (and suggestions, you know who you are, I'm gonna kiss you, mwah). If you ever wanna talk history with me, chat me up! I'm not the brightest bulb in the box, and I'm always willing to learn new things!**

**EDIT: I realized that I had put Washington as the president. He wasn't president in 1784. :'D**


	3. A Little Chat

**Even with annoying yodel music, I still can't seem to do these on time.**

**Alright, so the rating has been (reluctantly) changed from T to M. I didn't mean to, honestly. The "smut" (if we can call it such) in this chapter was supposed to be, er, much less than what I wrote, but the story got away from me (and from the original idea, which is pretty normal because I never stick to the original idea). I do hope that you people will still enjoy it just as much. If not more. Because smut.**

**Warnings: Badly written blowjob(?), a considerable amount of FrUS(?), awkward scenes that make bobness cringe, and bad editing skills because author is predisposed to use bad grammar on a daily basis. And she was too lazy to get a Beta on this one. Her fault.**

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When France had said, "I need to discuss some important matters with you," America hadn't been expecting to wind up in his own bedroom with his mouth connected to the older nation's mouth. He had been expecting to, well, discuss some important matters. While kissing might have been important to France, America was far more concerned with discussing the treaty and making sure he'd have enough of a financial base to fight off England's forces.

Now, it seemed, he couldn't even fight off France's forces.

"Mm," he moaned out. "We-We shouldn't be doing this."

France chuckled, drawing back slightly. "No?" He raised an eyebrow. "Should we not? Well, you haven't exactly been complaining about it much, now, have you?" He glanced down between America's legs, then back up. "Not complaining at all."

America turned bright red. "Um, n-no, I mean, it feels nice and all, but I don't think kissing is that important of a matter." He cleared his throat. "I think we should possibly focus on other things pertaining to my, er, freedom."

"Freedom from what?" France asked, trailing a finger down America's chest, and staring him in the eyes. "I have already made it perfectly clear that I shall assist you and your countrymen in the endeavor to break away from Great Britain. My, but how I long to see England squirm when he realizes just what I've agreed to." He grinned, then shook his head. "You shall have your freedom, from the monarchy you long to escape, and from something else. Something that, at this current moment, holds my interest much more than talks of politics and war does."

The young man in front of him blinked. "What?"

France rolled his eyes, peppering kisses along America's cheek. "Oh, come now, child," he whispered. "Surely you've noticed what your body is trying to tell you."

"Bodies don't talk," America responded, and despite his earlier wishes to stop, he stretched his neck to allow France more access. As expected, France eagerly took the opening. "My b-body has said nothing. Technically, I'm not even supposed to be kissing you."

"Not even?" France repeated, looking up. "Well, then, what _are_ you supposed to be doing?"

And that was a very good question, something America hadn't quite figured out. The way France's mouth moved against his skin had forced the majority of his coherent thoughts to flutter right out the window, leaving America with nothing but the thought of, _more, more, more_.

"Well, uh..." He bit at his lip, holding back a moan when France sucked on a particularly sensitive patch of skin. "I-I'm not entirely sure," he squeaked out. "Politics, mostly."

France drew back. "Ah, politics, yes." With a roll of his eyes, he continued talking. "But, honestly, America, do you not consider politics to be so _boring_? It's significant enough to the survival of our respective countries, but after hours and hours of politics, I'm ready for something new and exciting." His hungry eyes scanned America's body. "And I do believe I found something new and exciting."

America didn't quite understand what he meant by that, but he decided not to question it. After all, France had begun to kiss him again, and it was pretty difficult to think at all when France was kissing him.

"You're real good at this," America panted out, hands coming up to grasp onto the French nation's clothing. "You've had practice."

France gave a chuckle, making America's lips vibrate pleasantly, and the younger gave a gasp at such a feeling. "Practice does make perfect, little one. But you, though, you don't seem to have had any previous training. Did England not teach you the ways of love?"

"Oh, gross!" America exclaimed, pulling away for a few seconds to give France the most disgusted look he could muster. "England's my brother! Why the hell would I ever kiss _him_?"

"Ah," came France's reply. "So, er...have you ever kissed _anyone_?"

America looked a bit alarmed before bringing his gaze to the floor beneath them. "Well, um, no-not exactly," he admitted. "I've given England a few kisses before, you know, on the cheek and such, but that's...that's been it. One of the, uh, ladies back at my home tried to kiss me." America winced. "I wouldn't exactly call her a lady, though. She's one of those who, er, sells themselves."

France's brow came together in confusion. "I don't understand. Sells herself? She- oh. Oh, she sells herself for sex?"

A quick nod was his answer, and he watched in curiosity as America's face grew more and more red. "Yes! Er, yes, she sells herself for, er, yes, that."

"And did you pay her?"

"Pay-?" America's eyes grew wide. "N-No, I swear, France, I would never pay someone to-to-to do _that_!" He rubbed at his arm, overly embarrassed to be discussing such a subject. "England told me that I should only have sex with the woman I truly love. He said trouble happens, otherwise."

France laughed, amused. "Oh, he would know," he stated, shaking his head. America looked inquisitive, but France simply waved it off. "Ah, but no bother. England also told you to be a good colony and not throw the tea away, didn't he?"

America's face fell. "Er, why, yes. Yes, I believe he said something along those lines."

"And I suppose you're willing to disobey England?"

"I-I suppose I am."

France grinned in satisfaction and he began kissing America again, deep, passionate kisses that left America panting and gasping for more.

"We'll disobey him, then," France whispered, running his fingers through America's hair. "Alfred, we're going to disobey England all that we can."

Moaning at the use of his human name, America turned to complete putty in the European nation's arms, allowing the layers of clothing he was clad in to be removed. They dropped to the floor, and America was soon naked from the waist up. He had the decency to blush when France's gaze raked him over, but that still didn't stop him from arching his back when he felt the kisses travel down his neck.

"Good _heavens_, France," he groaned out. "D-Do people do this all the time?"

France rolled his eyes and glanced up, lips leaving the nipple he had been paying close attention to. "Did England leave you completely in the dark on such things?"

"Sort of," America said, fingers still grasping a hold of France's grand, blue overcoat. "He told me that, er, a man and a woman would kiss the ones they loved, bu-but that was about it."

"Just kissing?"

"Huh?" America looked down. "Wha-What do you mean?"

France sighed. "Did he explain to you about sexual intercourse?"

As predicted, America's face blew up in an explosion of bright red. "Tha-That's none of your concern!" he whined. "Can we ju-just go back to the kissing, please?"

"Well." France trailed his kisses down America's chest. "What say I treat you to a lesson on sexual intercourse, then?"

Because of his position, he wasn't able to see America's eyes grow fearful and nervous, and as he began to pull down the trousers, he wasn't able to hear the distressed whimper that escaped America's lips. It wasn't until the pants were fully down and the American's erection was sticking out did he catch America's worried gaze, and it made him think twice.

"Alfred, my sweet," he cooed, trying not to scare America anymore than he already had. "I promise I won't hurt you. You're my ally, my friend; I don't hurt my allies."

"Fra-France, I've never done this," America whispered. "Pl-Please, let's just forget about this."

"But you're, er, ready," France stated, placing a quick kiss on the tip of America's dick before flicking his tongue out to lap up some of the pre-cum. America gasped out, then brought a fist to his mouth to cover the rest of the sounds. Pleased with the reaction, France smirked. "It'll feel so, so nice once we start. I'm not-"

Just then, the door flung open, and both countries turned horrified eyes on the two men who had entered the room.

"Alfred, Thomas here told me that you..." Franklin blinked, eyes widening at the sight. "Oh. This was the important discussion?"

Jefferson, from behind Franklin, looked both disgusted and shocked. "My _god_, America," he snapped, which was uncharacteristic for him. "Put some damn _clothes_ on!"

That brought America and France out of their daze. The younger gave a yelp, pushing France down and stepping backwards, nearly tripping over his trousers. "Thi-This isn't what it looks like!" he screeched, tears gathering in his eyes as he pulled his pants up and began grabbing at his clothes. "I swear! We-We're trying to talk something over, and-" He struggled with putting his shirt on, even more so when he burst into tears.

France looked conflicted. He stood up and brushed himself off, then glanced over at the crying America. "Alfred," he started gently. "Come, now, there's no-"

"Get out!" America screamed. "Just get out, _please_! I don't want to talk to you right now!"

Gnawing at his lip, France nodded. "Ah, then...we'll, er, see each other at dinner tomorrow night, then. I...I do apologize, my dear. I honestly do." He swallowed and nodded once more before turning to the two men before him and giving a flustered bow. "Forgive me," he said, his voice hushed, and hurried out of the room.

America stumbled backwards to his bed, then sat down and buried his head in his arms.

Jefferson opened his mouth to say something, but at Franklin's nudge, he closed it again. "Let me handle this," the older man said. "You go find France and discuss more of the alliance with him. See, er, how many men he'll lend us."

"I already _know_ how many men he'll lend us," Jefferson mumbled. However, he seemed to catch Franklin's glare, and with a roll of his eyes, walked down the hallway.

Franklin closed the door behind him and allowed America a few more minutes to cry before clearing his throat. "So," he said. "France?"

"Le-Leave me alone," America sobbed. "I-I didn't know what was going on. He confused me."

"France, I've heard, has a tendency to do just that." Franklin stepped over to him, smiling lightly. "The authorities in this country tend to view him highly, though. They say that he never does anything out of malice or spite. He truly cares for you, America."

America shook his head. "He-He shamed me!"

"Yes, he did, didn't he?" Franklin mused, taking a seat next to America. "He didn't mean to, though. I could tell. I believe he was just trying to make you feel good."

"We-Well he didn't," America choked out. "He made me look like a disgusting bastard! Mr. Jefferson probably hates me, now. You sa-saw his face, Dr. Franklin!"

Franklin suddenly laughed. "Alfred, my boy, Tom doesn't view you as a disgusting bastard. He views you as his son. We all do. You're the joy of our lives, and not just for our own patriotic reasons. You've grown on us, even on Mr. Adams, and we just want what's best for _you_, as a human. And, like any parent, Tom was disappointed that you were engaging in sexual activities."

America sniffed pathetically. "I-I didn't think we were doing anything se-sexual," he blurted out. "We were just ki-kissing, you know."

"Were you getting into it?" Franklin asked with interest. "Were the kisses deep and passionate?"

Nodding, America's face turned red. "Yes, si-sir," he whispered.

"There you have it. Such things typically lead to sex, lad."

"I didn't know."

Smiling gently, Franklin wrapped his arms around the whimpering nation and pulled him close. "America, England didn't teach you anything about sex, did he?"

America shook his head.

"Well...hm, let's see. Did France tell you anything?"

"No, not much."

"Oh, good!" Franklin grinned. "I get to do this by myself." Ignoring America's confusion, he delved right into the subject. "Now, when a man and a woman are in love, they typically engage in intercourse. Never mind the magical story that England told you. Babies are made through sex." He pointed down at America's pants. "This is your, er, penis."

America gave a sharp intake of breath and hid his face in embarrassment. "I-I know," he whispered. "Ca-Can we please not bring me into this?"

Franklin shrugged. "Fair enough," he said. "Anyway, when a man and a woman-"

"France isn't a woman," America muttered. And neither am I. Please, Dr. Franklin, we-we didn't _do_ anything, and..." He sighed, glancing up at the man with red-rimmed eyes. "Can we just not do this now?"

"Alfred, you're very young," Franklin stated. "No, not as the personification of the people, but as a human. You're just a young boy, and I don't want to see you confused." He smiled kindly, grabbing America's hand and holding it in a comforting manner. "I don't want to see you scared of sex. While it might not be the most, er, public of practices, it's certainly nothing to draw away from."

America looked down at their hands, gnawing nervously at his lip. "I-I just...it seems weird, Dr. Franklin. Especially with a man. I've always thought that engaging in such practices with men were frowned upon."

Franklin chuckled. "Firstly, America, you are a country. When the common people know of a man who is immortal, I do believe that's very much frowned upon." America had to give a sheepish smile at that. "I'm not sure if countries are made to stick to the social norms of humans. Therefore, I say you should go for it. France seems used to it, after all, so there's obviously something going on between the nations that we measly humans know nothing about."

"Don't call yourself measly, sir."

"Each to their own, Alfred. Now, where was I?" Franklin grinned. "Ah, yes. Secondly, you were engaging in intercourse before marriage, which is already immoral. So," he shrugged. "What's one more immoral deed to add onto that list?"

America rubbed at his nose with his free hand. "But I want to have morals," he whispered. "I mean, I hardly ever curse, even. And I consider it indecent to show myself to others, whether they be male or female, and now look at what I have done."

Franklin allowed him to rest in his own despair for a few minutes before nudging him. "Might I share a word of advice with you, lad?"

America nodded, so Franklin leaned in.

"No one is perfect. No one can have good morals all the time. We all give into temptation." With those words, he stood, allowing America's confused gaze to look up at him. "Now, if you do not appreciate what you've been getting yourself into, reject the temptation. Cast the thoughts aside and follow your good morals. For this little incident, I will keep my mouth shut, I'm sure France will keep his mouth shut, and Tom will most certainly keep his mouth shut. No one will have to know anything if you don't wish for anyone to. You may do as you will, Alfred, and we will all love you just the same." He shot America a smile before turning and walking to the door.

"Now, all this talk about sex has me flustered. Let me go see if I can't find one of France's beautiful women to put an ease to my sudden change of mood."

He didn't have to turn around to see the blush return in full-force to America's cheeks.

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**who said every chapter had to be historical huh. maybe i wanted frus. (that's honestly my only reason for writing this chapter, i do apologize.)  
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**p.s. jefferson ships frus, pass it on.**

**So I've _really_ been enjoying the reviews- to get so much on one of my more historical pieces is such a promising aspect. :D**

**Also, thank you very much, anonymous reviewer _mofalle_- I actually had meant to say Washington, but after reading it over several times, it made so much more sense to put England. XD**

**See you guys next chapter!**


	4. Can't Live Without Her

**I really, _really_ suck at deadlines, guys. The yodeling hasn't been of any help.**

**Also, big thanks to _91RedRoses_ for beta-ing (betaing?) it for me. My grammar is horrendous. I mean, I just make up phrases with no care of what true English grammar is supposed to be. 'Scuse me, I speak bob-ness. **

**_Guest:_**

**Warnings: _Marthaaaaaaaa! _**

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He first met Martha on a cold and dark night. Thomas had invited him to his big Virginia estate, and America readily agreed. He wasn't one to pass up the chance to hang out with the men he considered his new guardians, after all.

Besides that, Thomas typically had incredible meals, and his house was always warm.

"Good evening!" he greeted to the slave who gestured him in from the cold. "It's a little bit chilly out there!"

The slave smiled at him, then proceeded to take his jacket. "Master Jefferson's in the sitting room. He's been expecting you."

America chose not to mention that he was an hour late because he decided to stop on the way and take a nap. Riding in a carriage was more exhausting than he cared to admit.

"Ah, I'll see him right away, then!" He gave the slave one last wave before leading himself into the sitting room (no need for someone to do it for him; he knew the way well enough).

Once he arrived, he was pleased to find not only Thomas, but his beautiful wife. The country had only heard stories about her, and he inwardly smirked when he saw just how well her appearance fit his imagination.

Thomas chose a good wife.

"America, lad, I'm pleased you could finally make it," Jefferson greeted, raising his eyebrows when he noticed America's stare on Martha. "Won't you have a seat? You must be tired, traveling all this way just for a few small bites of food."

"I didn't come here just for the food, Mr. Jefferson," America argued, though he did take the seat, still smiling. "I also wanted to meet Mrs. Jefferson."

She beamed at him, and America couldn't help but grin back. "What a sweetheart you are! Tom has told me all about you, America, and it's such a _pleasure_ to finally meet you!" She stood, preparing to curtsey, but America shook his head.

"No, no, the pleasure's all mine, really, there's no need-"

She curtsied anyway, and America found it only polite to stand up and bow right back.

When they were both settled down once more, Thomas was smiling slightly, staring down at his book. "She's been excited about your arrival," he mentioned.

America laughed. "I'm sure she has! You've been excited, too."

"And how do you know that?" Thomas looked up from his book, eyebrows raised.

"Adams said that you really, really, _really_ liked me," America responded. "And- oh, thank you." He looked up as the slave from just earlier set a small cup of coffee on the table just beside him. "Thank you very- very hospitable, Mr. Jefferson, they really are, my goodness."

The slave just laughed cheerfully. "I'm just doing my job, sir."

"And a fine job you're doing, really!" America exclaimed back, his eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"That will be all, Betsy; you may retire for the night if you wish."

"Betsy's her name? Betsy, then, thank you!" America continued on with his gratitude. "But, really now, you don't have to go through so much trouble for-"

"It's no trouble at all, sir." The woman bowed to the rest of the room. "Your food will be ready shortly. Have a nice night, Mr. Jefferson, and you as well, Mrs. Jefferson." To America, though, she gave a pat on his head. "And please try not to wake anyone up in the middle of the night searching for food again, sir."

America blinked, and once she left, turned to Thomas. "That was her that I woke up last time I was here?" he asked, shocked. "Goodness, I didn't even recognize her."

"She's had another child since you've known her," Martha gently pointed out, smiling. "Oh, but enough of that, America. We've- wait, do you mind if I call you America, or is there another name you go by?"

America blushed, feeling all too pleased with Martha Jefferson's attention. "Er, well," he started, instantly forgetting about the slave. "I-I also go by Alfred. Um, Alfred F. Jones."

Martha looked curious."That's a very lovely name, but does the F stand for anything? Faith, freedom, family-"

"I'm not exactly-"

"Perhaps it's a more conventional name, such as Fredrick or Francis."

"Francis is actually the name of-"

"Would it be Floyd? Though I really don't picture you as a Floyd. Oh, but I know! Forrest! Tom, he does look like a Forrest, doesn't he?"

America glanced to Thomas for help, but the elder man seemed more amused than anything. "It's possible."

Martha clapped her hands together, smiling brightly. "It's settled, then! Alfred _Freedom_ Jones!" When both her husband and her country cocked their heads in confusion, Martha laughed. "Well, Tom obviously doesn't agree that you look like a Forrest, Alfred, and I don't think a conventional name would suit such an unconventional character, so I'd much prefer if you used the name that you stood for."

Thomas raised an eyebrow and stared at America. "Does that suit you fine, lad?" he asked, his voice much more quiet when in comparison to that of his wife's.

Not exactly wanting to disappoint Mrs. Jefferson, America nodded. "Uh, sure. But, if you wish, you may just call me Alfred, or America. I-I mean, the rest of it gets a little more long-winded than it needs to be, so-"

"Oh, but of course!" Martha crossed her ankles, nodding. "Alfred is still such a wonderful name. You wear it with pride."

"I personally like America better," Thomas supplied.

"You would, sir." America laughed, leaning back in his seat. He took a sip of the coffee before continuing. "And while we're speaking of personal favorites, I personally don't care what my name is, so long as it continues to stand for the principles I was built upon."

"Wise words," was Thomas' simple answer, while Martha just sat back and grinned.

"The two of you get along so well!" she exclaimed. "I wish I would be able to join you men in such discussions, but I sometimes get quite lost." Before either of them could say anything to refute that fact, she held up a hand; "I do acknowledge the fact, though, that I have many other skills. Are you interested in music, Alfred?"

Surprised at being addressed so quickly, America blinked. "Er, well, I suppose I am. I do like listening to it."

"Well, I'm not too shabby with the piano, if I do say so myself. I'd like to play a few songs for you tomorrow, once you've had a sufficient amount of rest. Oh, and Tom can play his violin for us!" She looked excited. "Will you, Tom? I'd like to see if Alfred knows how to dance!"

"Dance?" America squeaked.

Thomas seemed to be inwardly laughing, if the twinkle in his eye was anything to go by. "I'd be delighted to, my dear, and I'm sure America already knows how to dance." Noticing America's strained expression, the man added, "Not very _well_, but if anyone can teach him, it's you."

He reached his hand out, and Martha instantly took it, squeezing gently. "Well, that settles it! Tomorrow, we shall play music, and I'll teach Alfred how to dance!"

America tried to protest, but Thomas cut him off (and America _knew_ he was just enjoying it). "It sounds like a lovely plan. But, for now, I suggest we all attend the meal that the cooks have generously prepared for us. It's a little something brought back from Europe, America, so I do hope you'll enjoy it."

Deciding to just go with the flow, America stood, nodding his head. "If it's food, sir, I'll readily enjoy it."

"A hearty appetite!" Martha declared, pulling her husband to his feet. "My, Tom, I do like this lad. I believe I shall accompany him to dinner tonight!" She reached over and hooked arms with America, who instantly began to blush. "I'm sure you won't mind."

"My wife having dinner with my country?" Thomas allowed the ghost of a smile to rest upon his face. "I suppose I could allow it for the night."

* * *

The urgency was clear in America's voice as Betsy ushered him inside. "I want to see him," the young country managed to blurt out.

Betsy's eyes cast down to the floor, and she sniffed. "He's...he's in his bedroom, sir. We haven't...we haven't been able to talk to him much."

"I might have more of a chance," America muttered, slowly peeling his coat off. "Where are his children?"

"The...the eldest has put them to bed," the slave responded. "Master Jefferson, he...he hasn't been speaking to them much."

America nodded grimly then took the heavy steps towards Thomas' bedroom. "Make a bed for me," he said, refusing to glance back. "I'll be staying the night."

He approached the room cautiously, eyes wide as he stared at the close door. Not a sound was heard inside. He gritted his teeth, glancing down and counting to ten before finally knocking. "Mr. Je-Jefferson?" he stammered. "Mr. Jefferson, it's me. It's...it's America."

There was still no noise, and America swallowed. "I'm coming in," he announced, opening the door with sluggish movement.

The room was dimly lit, despite being early evening. The curtains were closed, blocking off the sunset, something that Thomas had always loved to see. Only the skylight gave light; even his mirrors were covered. A sense of fear struck America as he glanced around. Jefferson's room had always been his favorite, and to see it so dark and closed off terrified him.

Across the alcove bed, sitting in one of the chairs, was Thomas Jefferson. He was staring at a book in his lap, though America could see that his eyes were glazed over, that he wasn't even reading. He didn't acknowledge the existence of another person in the room at all.

He just sat.

"Mr. Jefferson," America whispered, staring at him in concern. "I'm so sorry."

When Thomas made no response, America continued. "Martha's passing...it was a tragic blow to us all. It...oh, dear Lord, Jefferson, I am so-"

"And what," Thomas started, his voice coming out in little more than a breath of air. "What are you, America?"

America blinked, unsure of what to say. He didn't expect Thomas to talk, especially not so harshly. "I'm...I'm sorry," he said. "I truly am. Martha was loved by us all."

It fell silent once more, and after a few minutes, America was sure that Jefferson was giving him the silent treatment. However, with the sound of creaking wood, Thomas stood from his chair, his knees buckling just slightly, though he steadied himself by grabbing onto the desk beside him. "She was not _loved_ by you," he responded, voice still just as quiet as it always was. "You hardly knew her. You just liked her as my wife; you didn't see her as her own person."

"Wha-?" America was confused. "No, Mr. Jefferson, I-I _did_ like her as a person. She was charming, she was delightful, she-"

"Stop it!" Suddenly, Thomas' tone was raised, and he turned to glare at America with smoldering eyes. "Just _stop_ it! You know nothing, America! Please, just refrain from mentioning her anymore! Refrain from thinking about her, refrain from talking about her, refrain from-!" He didn't seem to know what else to say, so with aloud cry of anguish, he grabbed the book he was reading and threw it into the roaring fire, watching as it was overtaken by the orange flames. His shoulders moved in rhythm with his pants, face contorted into rage.

America flinched at the sudden movements and stepped back from the bed. He felt his chin quiver, but he knew better than to cry; he was here for Jefferson, not for himself.

After a few seconds, Thomas turned back around, and America realized his anger had not yet been calmed. He reached over, grasping a small pile of books, books that looked as if they had been worn with time and care, and threw them across the floor. One slid open, and America glanced down to see Martha's name; these were her diaries.

"Mr. Jefferson!" America cried out as the older man grabbed one of the diaries. It followed its sister, resting in the heat, burning to nothing but a pile of ash.

America couldn't believe his eyes. One of the few things left of Martha Jefferson, one of the last memories they would all have, and Thomas was destroying them. "Mr. Jefferson, please!" America screeched as more and more of the books were thrown in the fire.

"Leave me _be_, America!" Jefferson yelled, voice strangled with raw emotion. "I cannot _live_ with the knowledge that she left only these _books_ for me! I _cannot_!" He threw every last one away, to the point where he had nothing more to throw. He watched the pages burn, he watched the fire pop with each diary it devoured.

"Good God," America whispered, and only then did he realize he had tear streaks across his face. "Good-Good God."

Jefferson appeared not to have heard. Instead, he stood, panting, shoulders moving with the rhythm of his breathing.

It took a few minutes for the consequences of his actions to strike him, and he ran a hand through his frazzled, orange hair, shaking his head. "Oh, heavens, America, I do not..." He couldn't finish his sentence. He gave a choked sob and wailed out, "I miss her so horribly, America. I'm losing myself."

America saw his legs shaking, and the young country put off his own sorrow to race forward, jumping over the bed and catching his friend just before he fell to the ground. "Mr. Jefferson, don't do this to yourself," he murmured, sniffing pathetically. "You're ruining yourself."

Jefferson shook his head, sobbing now as he rested his head against America's shoulder. "I do not wish to live without her, America," he responded, resembling nothing more than jelly in America's arms. "There is no po-possible way I'm able to survive without my darling wife by my side. Is there no point in life?"

"Don't say that," America scolded. "You must live for other things. Your children- they need you now, more than ever. Don't give up, _pl__ease_ don't give up." He blinked his tears away, rubbing a hand up and down Jefferson's wrinkled shirt. "You're strong, Mr. Jefferson, possibly the strongest of us all. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you'll be able to overcome this."

Jefferson responded no more. Rather, he became limp, his tears rolling down his cheeks as he sobbed and sobbed, the sun setting and casting dark shadows across the bodies of the two men as they comforted each other in their sorrow and grief, hoping and praying for the better times to come.

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**-violent sobbing in the distance-  
**

**I love Martha Jefferson. I just...man, I love her so much. I was determined to put her in a story, and...well...I really didn't mean to kill her off. I just wanted to bring out some Thomas Jefferson angst, and there we go. Thomas getting angsty. And me ruining my historical OTP forever and ever and ever.**

**Martha had always been pretty frail and weak, though she was a bright and lively spirit. She ran Monticello while Jefferson was away, and she was also pretty wealthy (nudgenudge, jefferson). They seemed to have fallen in love over their musical abilities (?) and had six children in the course of their 11-year marriage, though only one survived past the age of 25, and the other died at the age of...21 or 22, I forgot. Martha died a few months after the birth of her youngest child in 1782, probably due to diabetes (which she is thought to have suffered, and which becomes worse with childbearing). Jefferson had to be pulled from her bedside by his sister, and led into the library, where he collapsed and wouldn't wake up. Everyone thought he wa_s_ going to die, but when he finally did wake up, he remained apart from everyone else, choosing instead to ride his horse around the grounds of the Monticello. John Adams finally sent him away to France in order to get his spirit up.**

**There's some even sadder stuff to go along with this story. I suggest you go read up on Martha Jefferson. **

**Once again, thanks to my awesome beta, thanks to the reviewers, and thanks to all the readers out there!**


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